


The Past is Another Country

by Jack Ironsides (JackIronsides)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 06:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12742839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackIronsides/pseuds/Jack%20Ironsides
Summary: So I made this post on tumblr:Considering how similar Matt Bomer & Henry Cavill look, please tell me that someone’s written a White Collar/UNCLE crossover fic with Neal and Napoleon as estranged brothers, one picked up by the FBI & one picked up by the CIA …I'm probably never going to write the rest of the story, but the beginning of the story I don't have the focus to write wouldn't let me go, and so voilà, a ficlet.(Unbeta'd, unresearched. Sorry about that.)





	The Past is Another Country

It was nice to be back in New York, Napoleon reflected. As nice as it was to wander through Europe, there was something about being in America that was … well, not quite relaxing. Relieving, maybe? Europe was all very well but sometimes you just wanted to be around people who said what they meant and spoke not just English, but the same language as you.

Being someone who excelled at subterfuge and doublespeak was twice as fun when you were around straightforward people.

Besides, you couldn’t get proper bagels on the continent.

“Waverly said Kravchenko’s workshop is down this street,” said Illya, frowning. “Not sure if this is right place. Smells of meat.”

“No, this is the right place,” said Napoleon. 

He saw a figure dart into the alley behind Kravchenko’s workshop. He was just thinking the figure looked familiar when it glanced quickly over its shoulder and he caught its face. _His_ face. It was a face Napoleon hadn’t seen for some years — not since before he was recruited the _first_ time.

If Neal was here, he was probably mixed up in this. On the plus side, that meant that Waverly’s information was correct. On the other — well. He was somehow going to have to run interference between Illya and his idiot brother, take down Kravchenko and his smuggling ring, while somehow ensuring Neal was not killed or arrested. 

_Perfect_.

*

_That morning_

Neal put both his feet up on the conference table and leaned back, luxuriating in the pull of his stiff muscles, and also the attractive picture he knew he painted as Peter walked through the door. Jones frowned at him from across the table, but said nothing.

“We’ve got a case,” said Peter, tapping Neal’s feet with one case file before dropping the other in front of Jones. Neal took his feet off the table and sat up reluctantly. “Smuggling ring run out of a tailor shop in the Meatpacking District. We’re not sure if the tailor is involved or if it’s one of his employees, but we have information that there’s going to be a drop there this afternoon in preparation for the major drop coming in later this month from the USSR. Neal, I want you to slip in the back. Jones and I will pose as customers and go in the front; that should provide a distraction.”

“You don’t know anything about tailoring,” protested Neal. “Let me go in as a customer. Jones can go around the back—”

“You were just pointing out the other day how much better you are at getting into places unnoticed,” Peter said mildly. “You’ve got the best chance of getting out undetected. We’ll need all we can get on this place if we’ve got a chance of finding out when the shipment is.”

Neal privately agreed that this made sense, although he didn’t give Peter the satisfaction of saying so.

*

Kravchenko’s workshop was no more than half a dozen blocks from the tiny apartment he’d lived in nearly a decade ago. The combination of the unsettling reminders of his past and the fact that the case they were on was smuggling did not bode well for excitement, even if the smuggling was being done by Russkies. Give him art forgery or missing millionaires with good-looking but worried offspring any day.

He was almost at the alley that ran along the back of Kravchenko’s place when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He glanced around, casually as he could, and then had to duck into a doorway to hide his shock. It couldn’t be … could it? He almost wanted to dismiss it as wishful thinking, brought about by being as close to his old neighborhood as he ever let himself get these days, but he’d learned too well how to glance at a room and have all the salient features memorised. Vincent had taught him that — as had Mozzie, and Peter. 

It was his brother. With a tall blond man whose demeanor and clothes both marked him as Russian.

Shit, shit, _shit_. He should have known that even going (more or less) straight wouldn’t stop his past from catching up with him. He’d just never expected the past to appear in the shape of the man who’d begun Neal’s education in fine arts, thievery and sleight-of-hand, dressed in an excellent navy suit. He also had never expected Napoleon to move into getting involved with the _Russians_ of all people; but then, Napoleon had never had Neal’s fine hand for forgery, and he supposed Napoleon had always been ambitious. This sort of game was like a con writ large.

The question now was how was he going to stop Kravchenko without Peter discovering his brother’s involvement?


End file.
